life lessons

when my daughter (step, but that's just as bad as the "f" word in our house!) was young, she was a breeze.  at school, she never ruffled any feathers.  she got glowing reports from all of her "superiors." she could blend in seamlessly with adult conversation.  she never interrupted conversations or phone calls.  she was, looking back, as easy as they come.  a gem from the moment i called her "mine."  i mistakenly thought that parenting was parenting, and it was generally the same regardless of the child.  i assumed that her god-given nature was somehow a reflection on the role we played in her life.

she was 6 when she came into my life, and 12 when we found out i was expecting my son.  we have always had a special bond, and i made sure she felt no anxiety about a new baby coming.  she was the perfect big sister, helpful and adoring.  my heart soared with pride, once again, assuming i had anything to do with her nurturing, sweet nature.

when my son was born, i began a journey of humility.

he despised swaddling.  he only nursed on one side.  he had no problem holding his breath until his face was purple.  he thought clothes were pointless and baby food was unnecessary. these days, i would tend to agree with him on those last two points, but back then i was way too concerned with doing everything the "right" way.

he has always been an (overly) active boy, so much so that he used to get upset because he couldn't be friends with tom sawyer and huck finn.  i used to dread picking him up from daycare, as it was always a debriefing on all the ways he didn't fit with the rest of the kids.

school hasn't proved to be much of a relief.  his first private school told him he needed to see a doctor for his behavior and politely asked us not to return.  he was 5. 

now, i'll be honest, i was mortified.  i had no idea how to "fix" this problem.  hadn't i done everything perfectly with his sister?  i wasn't sure whether i was more upset that he was so much of an individual, or at what those "superiors" must think of me as a mother.

i had never wanted to be anything more than a mother, and now i was failing at it.  i knew what kind of feedback he must be getting at school, from teachers as well as other kids.  some moms understand that life is chock full of struggles and everyone must find their own path.  i am not that mother.  well, my head is, but my heart? not a chance.

then, one day, right in the middle of admonishing him for the third time about the sheer decibel level he produces- it hit me like a freight train.  i was providing the same feedback as everyone else: that he was somehow less than desirable. 

right then and there i decided my job was to be his advocate, his cheerleader, his unwavering supporter.  i would no longer be crushed under the disapproving looks of my peers, i would no longer concern myself with forcing him into the unnatural mold that public school demands (my dream is to homeschool him, but that choice would leave us homeless and hungry).  he would be free to be himself, no matter how inconvenient that might be for those in charge of his care. this does not mean that discipline wasn't exercised or limits were not set.  simply that he is a unique individual and i refused to participate in destroying that. 

it's rather freeing, actually.  yes, there are still plenty of times i wanna crawl under a rock.  he screams for what appears to be no reason.  he runs everywhere.  he has no concept of personal space.  there is no filter on his mouth, meaning if he thinks it, it comes out instantly.

there have been doctors visits and diagnosis.  they love to give me pamphlets on things i'm living first hand.  school still loves to fill me in on his shortcomings. i really don't care what they have to say.

sometimes when i'm out in public alone, i'll see another mom struggling to maintain her sanity.  her little one is acting like the grocery store is a free-for-all, or enjoying the echo of a tiled library.  i can't help but smile.  i've been there.  i can see the shame in her face as others just look at her, disapprovingly.   i hope she knows that this week's trip to the grocery store won't matter in the long run.  i always try to make her smile, to know she isn't alone on figuring out this motherhood journey.  before my son, i might have felt that i was more together than this mom.  when, in reality, my experience in mothering was limited to a different child. an easier child? absolutely.  a better child? no way.

in another era, my boy would have been viewed as a strong one, a hunter, protector, and provider.  somehow the very qualities we appreciate in a man, are unacceptable in a boy.  he's brave, articulate, adventurous, funny, freakishly strong, and devilishly handsome.  so what if he can't sit for story time?  my goal is to raise a well-rounded, loving man.  he's well on his way.

my daughter is 21 now. as beautiful, easy going, and caring as ever.  i still tell her that she is the child i "chose."  however, it appears that god saw additional weaknesses in me that needed strengthening.  he knew just the boy for the job.

solitude

a bit of solitude does me good.  it refreshes me, it allows me to be a better wife, mother, and friend.  i find it difficult to be at my best when my own reserves are empty.

as i sat there, in my favorite of places, i closed my eyes and felt the sunlight on my skin and salt air genlty blow through my hair.  i reminded myself that i had no where to be.  i told myself to relax my shoulders.  and breathe.

"me" time is important, but it would be so much easier if someone actually forced me to take it!  i forget how much i like me when i'm away too long. 

i'd love to know where you go or what you do to "fill your cup" and remind yourself of your blessings.

sweet september

you know, i'm usually a summer kind of girl.  i love the warmth, the sunshine, the freedom to go and do whatever we want without the confines of school or weather.

but, this summer has been different.  maybe I'm getting old.  we haven't really gone anywhere, mostly because it's too hot and I hate crowds. 

for the first time ever, i really can't wait until fall, which by the way, starts on september 22nd.  i'm  looking forward to cozy, cool evenings; cooking real meals again; apple picking; baking; and the beach when it has gone silent from all it's summer visitors.



happy september!

i'm watching him sleep.

he has such a beautiful face. golden skin. full lips.  a few freckles. and those eyelashes.

sometimes he doesn't stand still long enough for me to take him all in.  but here, during slumber, I'm etching the 7-year old him into my memory.

he changes so often. morphing into a leaner, taller, more mature boy almost weekly. 

i'm sure i will love every stage to come, just as i have loved every stage that has passed.  but, my heart aches for the times i will never get back.  he no longer wants to be rocked, and he's too big for me to carry.  every day he becomes a teensy bit more independent.  i am acutely aware that he is, ever so slightly, wanting less of me and more of the world.

there should be another word for this feeling besides "love."  it just doesn't seem to do this feeling justice. momma love isn't like other love.  It's fierce, unrelenting, and sometimes it consumes me.

sometimes, i wish i could just freeze time.

so sentinmental...

when I was a kid, my grandpa grew countless fruits and vegetables.  his favorite were his home-grown tomatoes.  i hated tomatoes.  although, i'm not sure how i knew this, since i refused to even try one.  looking back, I'm sure it drove him crazy to hear me say that.  but he would just smile, shake his head, and pop another tomato in his mouth. 

he was so good at waiting patiently.  waiting for us to learn our own lessons, to realize that indeed, he had been right all along.  nothing made him happier than seeing his family succeed, and nothing made me happier than seeing him "glow" for me.

but I digress, i'm just talking about a tomato here.

he always told me that i just HAD to have a home-grown tomato, that the reason that i didn't like them was because the store bought ones are worthless.

do I need to say it?

he was, indeed, right all along.

this little jem joined some goat cheese and a baguette. so delicious.

how i wish that i could take a basket to him these days, just to see him glow.

This Love

I'm watching him sleep.

He has such a beautiful face. Golden skin. Full lips.  A few freckles. And those eyelashes.

Sometimes he doesn't stand still long enough for me to take him all in.  But here, during slumber, I'm etching the 7-year old him into my memory.

He changes so often. Morphing into a leaner, taller, more mature boy almost weekly. 

I'm sure I will love every stage to come, just as I have loved every stage that has passed.  But, my heart aches for the times I will never get back.  He no longer wants to be rocked, and he's too big for me to carry. 

Every day he becomes a teensy bit more independent.  I am acutely aware that he is, ever so slightly, wanting less of me and more of the world.

There should be another word for this feeling besides "love."  It just doesn't seem to do this feeling justice. Momma love isn't like other love.  It's fierce, unrelenting, and sometimes it consumes me.

Sometimes, I wish I could just freeze time.

Some Lucky Girl

This morning I woke up late.  Really late. 

My Punk was whiny, he was "just toooo tired to get dressed."

After I got dressed, I went to check on his progress.  He's watching cartoons.  Fabulous.

We need to leave in 10 minutes.

I tell him to go brush his teeth.

I race to the kitchen and pack his lunch.

I go check on his progress.  He's playing rocket ship with his toothbrush, no toothpaste in sight.  Awesome.

I attempt to spackle on some makeup, while telling him to put shoes and socks on.  "Ok, Momma," he yells.  Then my favorite eyeshadow falls into the sink and shatters into 50 bazillion tiny specks. Super.

I go check on his progress...and can't find him.  Soon, I hear him - under his bed, retrieving a pair of shoes.  Do I need to explain we have wood floors?  And 3 animals?  Just imagine the monster-sized dust bunnies under his bed. Great.

I call him into the bathroom to comb his hair.  While putting the brush back in the cabinet, I smacked my brand new bottle of nail polish.  It falls onto the toilet, shattering the bottle.  There is currently hot pink splattered all over my toilet, shower curtain, walls, and most important my Saltillo tile.  I attempted to clean it up, and dyed my hands hot pink.  Did I mention we're late? I give up.

Almost in tears, I rush us out to the car.  Forgot my cellphone.  Run back in.  And then I see this:

It's a Bionicle flower.  He took apart one of his beloved Bionicle's to make one of my beloved orchids "bloom."

I stop, sigh, and smile.

Some day, I will have to share this boy.  Some day, I will not be the one he brings flowers.  Some day, some lucky girl will be the recipient of his magnificent heart.  But, right now, I'm that lucky girl!

Acceptance

"We always hurt the ones we love"

I talk to my closest friends and family in a way I would never speak to those a little more removed.  That is, I express myself more openly.  On one hand it's really comforting, I think we do this because we know, deep inside, that these people are our family, will love us always, and won't leave us. 

So, I think the quote is true...right up until something (near) tragic happens.

My brother can annoy the living bejeezus out of me.  Seriously. I wanna smack him upside the head sometimes.  Only because I refuse to admit that, at almost 40, he can take care of himself. 

I  spent the evening nagging at him about something completely unimportant, while he laughed at me.

Then this happened. 

(It's a crappy pic, but you get the idea...)

He was driving.  Three of his friends were with him.  It was 19 degrees outside, and they hit a patch of ice while on their way to work, and rolled the truck off a freeway off-ramp.

All of a sudden, the insignificant differences disappeared.   None of it mattered.  He matters.

Being half way across the country with my heart in my throat all morning did wonders for my perspective. 

From now on, I will open my heart a bit wider to accept and appreciate the small differences I have with those I love.  I am ecstatic to say, that my big bro will be here, buggin' me no doubt, for a long time to come.  And I couldn't be happier about that.

Behind the Scenes

This blog has really become a part of our everyday lives. Although I didn't realize the impact it would have, I'm totally enjoying it.  It has made me very aware of the small everyday enjoyable activities we do, the memories we make, and the togetherness that results.

Tonight, this is what blogging looks like for us.

It's freezing outside, so we are snuggled into my bed, warm apple cider in hand.  We are discussing concepts together, he is realizing that his opinion is important to me, and delights when he sees his ideas come to fruition on this blog.

Earlier this evening, he lost (for the first time) his sparring match.  He does not like to lose, but learning to lose graciously is an important lesson to learn.  I can't help but think that, with the importance he places on his physical strength, this is a comforting way to focus on his other "strengths." 

It is my hope that this blog reveals some of his creative talents and shows him he has a very strong foundation: his family.  He is always a champion here, always accepted, always loved.

Come to think of it, "loved" almost seems like an understatement.  For that, I am forever grateful.